


Making It Happen

by kageillusionz



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: Eames is a beautiful species of a man, which is like saying water is wet or touching a hot stove is a stupid idea. He has the body of a Renaissance sculpture, muscles carved by hands of the likes of Michelangelo, all that sinew covered by skin lavishly decorated by black ink. His face is ruggedly handsome, with a strong chiselled jaw and mischievous steelblue eyes. And his mouth, a pair of lips that has been quoted numerously throughout Eames’ life as perfect for cocksucking.For those reasons above, it is why Eames also happens to be famous - or perhaps it is closer to internet infamy which amounts to the same thing - for his exclusive work as Lucid Dreamers’ rising star in pornography fame.





	Making It Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: meet ugly.
> 
> I racked my brains for this one and came up with a few plausible scenarios (including meeting on grindr as a front for some tourist advice that turns into something more after they keep bumping into one another, it was getting elaborate) and then instead this idea happened along and bit deep into my ankles.
> 
> Unbeta'd at this point.

Lucid Dreamers Studios is a medium sized endeavour based in Los Angeles, as all pornography studios are often want to be. The brainchild of power couple as named by Forbes, Dominic and Mallorie Cobb, they made their name as visionaries in the art of filmmaking with a combined fortune that is both inspiring as it is often gossipped about. After all, very few people would aspire to become directors in the adult industry.

But the Cobbs are not like most people. Mal has a penchant for finding extraordinary talent, with fingers in many pies and rubs shoulders with many different people in many different circles. She spots diamonds in the rough and reels them in, persuading them to meet with her silver-tongued husband that convinces them to sign a contract. It is all Mal who spots a young down-on-his-luck Eames at an after-party, half-starved and naive to believe in the magic of Hollywood and setting him down a road of a different sort of fame.

“You have the lips for it. Any girl or boy would be lucky to have this on them,” Mal commented, rubbing a thoughtful finger over Eames’ bottom lip. She held a glass of white in the other hand as she critiqued Eames’ looks, heedless of the people around them and the heavy sound of bass playing over the sound system. “My husband and I have been looking for someone like you, if you would like to meet him.”

Eames had seen no harm in meeting new people - networking is key in any type of industry, especially one as cutthroat as Hollywood - and acquiesced, watching as Mal beckoned a squinty eyed fellow over and Dom the husband slid an arm around his wife, thrusting out his hand in introduction.

“Have you ever considered doing it?” Dom asked, straight and to the point. He had a Stella Artois pilsner in hand, condensation gathering at his fingertips and accepts a kiss to his cheek from Mal when she excuses herself and darts away to greet someone that had just arrived.

Eames had foolishly answered the truth that had Dom smiling against the neck of his bottle in a way that reminded Eames of the cat that got the canary. Dom produced a business card out of thin air moments later, all gold embossed lettering upon linen-textured cardstock.

“Feel free to come by anytime, if you have time between auditions and the like. Mal and I would love to show you the place.” Dom clapped Eames upon the shoulder like an old friend and walked away, answering yet another of Mal’s beckoning gestures.

***

Of course, Eames had gone by a different name back then, back before he became Lucid Dreamer’s exclusive poster boy and capitalized on the human race’s voyeurism and his own depravity. He had travelled across the pond with theatre credentials under his belt, hoping to follow in the footsteps of his childhood heroes like Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire and make it to the big screen.

He had got in touch with a friend of a friend, bid his mother farewell with promises to call, bought a one way ticket to Los Angeles, and been picked up at LAX one transatlantic flight later by that same friend of a friend with nothing but a rucksack full of his clothes.

Chuck - the friend of a friend - had been gracious enough to let Eames crash on his sofa, showing him the ins and outs of living in LA.

“You have to be flexible,” Chuck said philosophically one night, after Eames had come back from an audition (small role, waiter turned extra for a sit-com) before he starts his night shift at a Starbucks.

“I can be flexible,” Eames shot back from where he was raiding the perpetually empty pantry and pulls out a yellow square of dried noodles. Fuck. What he would give for a vegetable. Many months of eating nothing but instant noodles and auditioning for roles that never called back left much to be desired in his culinary life.

Chuck snorts in disbelief, scraping the bottom of his Ben and Jerry’s tub and goes to join Eames in the tight squeeze of their kitchen. “I can hook you up with another after party - the band’s playing - but you gotta get out there, man.”

Eames stirred the pot and turned to shoot Chuck a look. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m just saying that spaghetti is straight right up until it’s wet and things get hot,” Chuck shrugs, tossing away the container and making yet another vague point about how Hollywood Directors dig that sort of thing. “You gotta make ends meet.”

“I’m an aspiring actor,” Eames said with conviction, shutting off the heat and roots around their cutlery drawer for a fork intent on eating straight out of the pot. Ain’t nobody got time for a bowl. “And no way is my life going to turn into _Pretty Woman_ or _My Own Private Idaho_.”

Chuck shrugs. “Worked out well for Julia Roberts’ character and her roomie, just sayin’.”

“Yeah, well. It would be tragic if either one of us turns out to be Mike or Scott,” Eames says, twirling the fork around for some noodles. “Just goes to show you not everything is rainbows and unicorns in showbiz.”

***

When Eames arrives on set in his casual clothes, there are already a number of people milling about. He recognises a face or two from other movies he has shot, but otherwise, most are probably down on their luck film students who had also somehow stumbled upon Lucid Dreamers and their charismatic owners.

“Eames,” Dom says over the sound of people making last minute set checks. He hands a clipboard over to someone and makes a beeline for him. “I want you to meet Nash.” He flaps his hand at a beardy Latino looking guy with floppy hair who sidles up in a maroon silk robe and a smarmy smile on his face.

“Hey. I’m Nash. I’m from Tennessee.” He sticks out a hand. “Do you know where that is?”

“I’m Eames, evidently.” Eames takes it and they shake, wondering the entire time why Americans continue to insist on telling him which state they hail from or questioning his geography (which, admittedly, should be questioned). “You guys do a good drink, which we could all do with one now.”

“You know our alcohol policy, Eames,” Cobb says with his signature squint.

“And more’s the pity. I will continue to question that every day that I work with you,” Eames replies brightly. “Who are we waiting on?”

“You, mostly,” Nash says with a shrug. “And the director guy. He stepped out to make a call.”

Eames blinks, rifling through his recent memory for any sign of seeing anyone in the corridor when he came in. “Oh? The director’s here?” He turns to Cobb. “I just assumed you would be.”

Cobb shakes his head. “I owed a favour to someone so they sent him to us. Probably to try keep us in check or something. Not even sure if he’s qualified, but seems to be above board...”

“He certainly looks the part,” Nash interjects. “Came in with a three piece and an attitude like he owns the place. What a dick.”

“But who turns up to shoot a porno in a suit?” Eames asks incredulously. “I don’t know how I feel about this.” He watches as Nash sidles closer and looks down at the warm point of contact when Nash touches his hand.

“Baby, all you have _to_ do is feel.”

And then all of his worries disappear when the door opens again and Eames’ breath is stolen from him when the director walks in, dressed to the nines like Nash had said. He tracks the guy’s movements, watching him stop at one of the cameras and then slightly turns to Cobb. “I want him.”

“Hmm? Who are you talking about?”

“That guy,” Eames says, and waves a vague hand over at the camera.

Cobb looks over and frowns. “The camera guy? I don’t see anything special about it, but I’m sure Mal can convince him...”

“No, _him_.”

“Arthur? But he’s directing...” Cobb trails off, a thoughtful look on his face as if he suddenly realises the extent of Arthur’s potential.

Christ, Eames thinks a little dazedly as if he’s been struck by lightning, Arthur is gorgeous. There is something inherent about how well put together that appeals to how desperately Eames wants to see Arthur all dishevelled and mussed, skin flushed and slick from exertion.

“Make it happen,” Eames demands, shouldering past a dejectedly looking Nash and around a fluffer to make Arthur’s acquaintance.

***

_“I have a vision and I want him,” Arthur says, lifting up Eames’ photograph and studying the bright smile and the amazing musculature like one would marvel at a prized Thoroughbred. “And as I am collecting on Saito-san’s favour, you will make this happen.”_

_Mal looks unimpressed as she studies her nails. “Of course you want him. Everyone wants him. Eames is famous. He’s our best. But you are here for experience and certainly not in any position to make demands around here.”_

_“I only work with the best,” Arthur interjects, setting the photograph down and unfolds his legs._

_“And you’d just have Eames? We launched his solo career long ago.”_

_Arthur tilts his head, a frown on his face and then stands up. “You can pick the other person, I don’t care. I will see you on Monday. Just give me Eames.” He rebuttons his expensive suit and walks out._

**Author's Note:**

> There will be more with the actual 'meet' part of 'meet ugly'. Maybe. :D


End file.
